


Feathers

by QueenOfPixies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Death, Depression, M/M, Not Beta Read, cries forever, weird facinations not fetishes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:51:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfPixies/pseuds/QueenOfPixies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It began in a flurry of feathers; ended in broken wings and other things. Supernatural Destiel AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feathers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tanya_Meridia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tanya_Meridia/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Inspired by: The pile of feathers you see on the ground when a fucking cat kills native wildlife, crap-quality parenting, the end of Season 8, Misha talking about Cas' character, Cas' character development (particularly from s8 to s9), and the feeling of loss you have when you love someone so much it physically hurts when they leave you… especially when you don't understand why.
> 
> Warnings: Obligatory title insert, character death (canon…mostly), slash/yaoi, touchy subjects like depression, and, of course with Dean, swearing. Also one shameless reference to a very sob-inducing fic that makes me sad and cry and unhappy and uuuuugh
> 
> Rating: T for swearing, violence/gore/ish, touchy subjects and sexual references.

Feathers.

When he was little, those were the things that Dean loved to find the most.

Whenever he saw one, no matter the size or shape or colour, he'd always pick them up and keep them until the next time he saw his best friend. He collected them in abundance.

Castiel was obsessed with feathers.

Castiel always said to Dean that the thing he wanted to do most was fly. He wanted just to fly right on away from the world and his horribly controlling, constantly fighting family and go to some place where life was easier.

Every time Dean gave Castiel a feather, he'd get the tightest hug he could imagine; tighter than Sammy's hugs when Dean went to Big Kid School, tighter than Uncle Bobby's when he found out about his mom and dad.

And they always made him feel warmer on the inside.

Whenever he went over to Castiel's house, Castiel would show him his collection of feathers. There were white ones, blue ones, yellow ones, green ones and brown ones… but the ones that Castiel liked the most were the beautiful glossy black ones.

They had an ever changing undertone of colour when held up to light, and every time Dean saw one of those glossy black feathers, he would say quietly, keeping his eyes awkwardly on the floor, "They're my favourite too." When Castiel would ask him why, he would remain silent. Dean never replied to that question. He really wasn't the kind of person to go saying his innermost thoughts every second, and this question wasn't ever any different.

But what his thoughts always went to was one short, simple sentence.

_Because they remind me of you._

So after waiting for Dean to reply to his question and then getting not a single sound, Castiel would talk about what he would do with the feathers when he had enough.

His blue eyes would look away from Dean and drift to the town-scape out his second-story window, and his gaze would become distant.

"You know, when we're older and our parents can no longer control us, I'm going to leave here and go far, far away. I'm going to cross oceans and soar over deserts. I'm going to see sights no person has ever seen alive, and no one will be able to stop me, because I'll do it with the wings I made myself." His voice would be low and quiet and sad and hopeful.

Dean's gaze would come up from the floor so he could look at Castiel, at the sad, longing look in his big blue eyes.

And each time Dean's brain would call out _'Don't leave me here alone! Take me with you!',_ but his mouth, betraying him, would remain as shut tight as the locks on Castiel's windows. So he'd just nod.

 

o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o

 

Dean sits in his car.

It's hot. He's been sitting there for somewhere near an hour; he can't be sure. He's been drifting in and out of awareness, and he couldn't care less.

He doesn't want to even get out of the car, let alone know if he has the energy and will-power to do it.

He turns up the AC/DC blaring from the car radio and ignores the world for a while more.

 

o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o

 

Dean and Castiel were always drawn to each other. People used to call it weird, but they eventually got used to it. Just like Dean was with Sam, they were oddly co-dependent.

Way back on Castiel's first day of grade two at his new school, Dean had been mucking around with Jo on the swings. He pushed her each time, even when she swang back and yelled at him for pushing like a baby when his efforts didn't make a difference.

Castiel had been sitting underneath a shady tree, watching them intently, wishing he had someone to push him on those swings too. He wanted the thrill of hanging in the air, even if only for a second. He wanted to feel the cool rush of air pass his face, but he had no family, no friends there to give him that start to… himself. And you could see the loneliness clear as day on his face.

Maybe that's what pushed Dean into thinking he needed to protect Castiel, even if he _could_ fight for himself.

You see, even when he was just a little boy, Dean was always one to stand up for others. Some would call it bravery. Mostly it was just the hero complex that had been installed in him the day his little brother had been born – the need to protect.

He had seen Castiel looking at them before, his tentative, curious gaze flickering every few minutes between Dean and Jo and the few different feathers he held in his lap. Dean smiled at him when he caught his gaze, only for that smile to falter slightly when Castiel's eyes shot right back down to the plumage in his fingers, his cheeks reddening the smallest touch.

Then that smile was wiped completely from his face when he saw Zachariah coming up behind Castiel, the wickedest possible grin on his ugly, smug little face.

"Hey there, feathers, my name's Zachariah," he spoke, slowly… slimily – as if Castiel was too dumb to understand. "Why don't you show me what you've got there?"

Castiel's gaze hardened as he took in the sight of the pudgy boy and the equally snide-looking children behind him.

"My name is Castiel, and I would appreciate it if you didn't talk to me or give me names which are not mine." His voice was small, but deep and powerful for his age, and his hands tightened around the plumage in his fingers. Thinking it was over, he went back to playing with the long fluffy things in his hands.

Zachariah snorted out a short, derisive laugh, throwing his hand out in front of him.

"I didn't ask what your name was, _feathers_ , I asked to see what you've got in those breakable little fingers of yours."

Immediately after he spoke, Cas held out his own hand to grab Zachariah's and pull him into the dirt alongside the feathers he'd been looking at.

"I said, _don't talk to me_. If you don't want _your_ fingers broken, I suggest you leave me alone."

As Castiel got up and turned to leave, Zachariah grabbed him by the hood of his blue jumper and was about to hit him with a tightly packed fist when Dean ran over and pushed him into the tree that Castiel had been sitting under. He took Castiel's hand and led him away quickly before Zachariah could shake himself off and go after them.

Castiel put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Please, you don't have to –" He paused for a second when he realised he didn't know the scruffy freckled boy's name.

"Dean. And of course I did. Can't have the school bully pushing you 'round on your first day can we, Castiel?" He grinned at Castiel's look of surprise. "I was listening before when Zachariah came up to you. Knew he was trouble. We gotta get away before he sends his buddies after us." He came up to the swings before grabbing Jo's hand and leading her away too.

Jo tried pulling her hand out of Dean's grip before giving up and asking about what they were doing.

"So Dean, where are you taking me and the new kid?"

Dean laughed. "I have no idea Jo, and his name is Castiel. Joanna Beth, this is Cas. Cas, this is Joanna Beth. What about we go hide in the classroom?" he managed in between giggles. Finding their way over to the classroom, he stopped, letting go of their hands.

"Pleased to meet you, Joanna Beth," Castiel said, nodding at her while Dean opened the door. "Ladies first."

Jo smiled at him and walked through the door. "Please Castiel, call me Jo. Also, never call me a lady again or I will slit your throat while you sleep."

Castiel looked momentarily taken aback before he realised she was joking.

"Oh… ok…" he said quietly, silently happy that these people were being nice to him.

Dean looked out the window to make sure no one followed them back to the classroom, and turned around to see Jo looking at him expectantly, nodding her head in Castiel's direction.

He smiled and knew exactly what he wanted to do.

"So Cas, wanna be friends?"

Castiel looked up, shocked that this brave raggedy boy had asked him to be his friend. He nodded enthusiastically, and a grin split his face, making his big blue eyes sparkle.

"Yes please."

Jo smiled and gave him a hug; Dean grinned, showing his missing front tooth.

"Awesome!" he said, pulling Castiel over to his and Jo's desk, where they sat until the bell rang, smiling and giggling to each other while Castiel thought how wonderful his life might turn out to be with these people.

In the days and weeks and months and years that followed, Castiel found his place sitting with Dean and whatever friends he had with him – Jo, Ash, or occasionally pretty little Lisa. Even if there was a crowd of people they would always end up next to each other, even if it meant arguing with a teacher, or older student, or sometimes their parents when they went to the cinema.

Dean was an annoying little shit, always talking back to the teacher, and Jo was always stirring up Zachariah and causing trouble, whereas Castiel was the perfect quiet little student, always being obedient. It was a miracle that he could ever put up with Dean, but apparently he did. Castiel always retraced his steps, carefully, cautiously, in awe of their size and depth. Maybe it was his rare rebellious side that no one got to see but Dean.

It was kind of a miracle really, how they came to be friends, they were so different. But maybe their differences were what drew them to each other – their difference and their similarity.

Maybe that was why Dean was the only one who could know about Castiel's feathers.

 

o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o

 

Dean looks out the window, to the clouds and the tops of the bare trees, to the bitumen that lines the road and the white lines that follow it into the distance.

He smells the air and sighs. He can feel its heavy thickness; he can taste its zing hanging in the air. It's going to rain soon, and Dean can't help but think how appropriate it is.

The weather knows just how he feels.

 

o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o

 

Castiel got home from a day of senior year at school to find his father Metatron holding his box of feathers above the fireplace that the family always kept blazing throughout winter.

It dropped into the hungry flames, and all he felt was an emptiness growing inside him and swallowing the little feelings that he had left.

His father looked up at him and smiled a disturbingly normal smile for what he'd just done.

"You've always tried to fit into humanity, Castiel, and you always find it so hard. Do you really think something as childish as that would help you?"

Metatron sat calmly down in his old, worn chair, picked up the book lying on the coffee table and ignored Castiel as he watched the fire lick at the brown cardboard that housed his dreams.

Castiel, as burnt and crumbling as the feathers in the box, turned and ran upstairs to his room, dumped his bag, and climbed straight into the comfort and familiarity of his bed, the sturdy frame and warm quilt keeping him grounded and away from the windowsill as his cheeks steadily drowned in warm salty water.

He stayed in there, head under the covers and smothered in darkness. He didn't come out. He just lay in his bed, wondering what if any of his dreams would ever come true.

The next morning he didn't get out of bed for school.

He got out his bag to fill it with his wallet, clean clothes and a toothbrush, and as soon as that was done, he walked out the crisply white door onto the street and down the road, following it, twisting and turning with the winding tarmac, walking and walking until he found himself in front of a house with a long black vintage car out front.

He turned back onto the road and kept walking.

After a few hours he found himself in his brother's apartment, knowing that neither his family nor his friends knew where to find him, and he sat down on the couch, leant into the crushing, sugary-scented hug, and cried until his eyes were dry.

He eventually walked into his English class again, a week later, and ignored the stares he got from the snarky teenagers sitting in the dull grey plastic chairs.

When the lesson was over, he was the first out of his seat and into the corridor, only to bang straight into Dean as walked from his workshop class.

"Cas! Jesus, where the hell have you been?" Dean said, his voice quiet and worried.

Castiel looked into his best friend's eyes with a blank face and empty eyes ringed with harsh purple, and muttered harsh, grated words in his deep dark voice.

"He burnt them, Dean."

Dean startled, pulled back a bit before he asked what he meant by 'them'.

Castiel looked down this time, to the sharp-looking ink that peeked just above the collar of Dean's tight black tee shirt.

"The feathers, Dean. The feathers and my hopes of ever getting out of that cold and empty house," he said icily, rapidly blinking away the stinging in his eyes.

Dean took a step forward, arms already reached out towards him. But he stopped when Castiel glared at him and held a hand up to stop him from speaking.

"The warmth of your body is a drug, Dean. It's something I can't ever give up, because I need it too much. I need it all the time, constantly. Your arms are poison, Dean. A sweet, sticky poison that gets into my system and won't get out, no matter how much I bleed myself to be rid of it, and each moment you're away I swear I'd sell my soul just to get the slightest taste of you again. And you know what? You tainted those feathers too, tainted them so I could never reach what I wanted."

He walked away, not daring to look back at what he knew would be a mix of anger and confusion, just wanting to escape the ropes that held him tied down.

Dean glared after Castiel, wondered why he couldn't just see that all Dean ever wanted for him was happiness, wondered why Castiel couldn't see how much he cared, even if he was poison. He wondered if he would ever see an end to the distant image of Castiel's back.

"Fine, Cas! Fine! Go sulk and don't let me help! But know that when the time comes and you need me again, don't bother knocking!"

Castiel stared ahead through the tears blocking his sight and walked straight out the doors at the end of the corridor and into the forest surrounding the school.

He walked until he couldn't anymore, and sat down to try and figure out how to fix everything that was wrong.

At the end of the day, after a long and gruelling double calculus, Dean dragged himself around the corner to his locker, only to find that the bane of all happiness stood in front of it, smiling cruelly with his gang of lackeys behind him.

Zachariah opened his wide mouth to speak as he usually did, slimily and full of contempt.

"Hello, Winchester."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"The hell do you want, Cherafim?" he asked, his voice filled with all the hate he felt for the ass who bullied his friends in and out every day,

Zachariah smirked. "Nothing much, just wanted to chat with you about joining the football team. Michael's seen you play, says you're pretty good."

Dean pushed past him to get to his locker.

"I've told him before and you can tell him again, I'm not fuckin' interested, okay?"

His fingers fiddled for a while with the combination, and he frowned when he found it harder than usual. That meant that someone who wasn't him must have been into his locker.

Zachariah laughed unpleasantly, looking over Dean's shoulder into his sparsely decorated locker. His gaze landed on the photo of a beautiful young blonde woman, eyebrows going up in interest.

"Winchester, that your girlfriend? I thought you were gay for Lafitte or some crap like that."

Dean froze, upper lip curled into a snarl of rage.

"No, that's my mother, asshole."

"Oh, well then, she's certainly a… what's the word? Ah yes. _Milf,_ " Zachariah said crudely.

Dean was about to turn around and punch him when he noticed a slip of notebook paper sitting subtly under his English book.

He ignored Zachariah and his group as they strode loudly away, and he opened the letter, growing still as he read it.

 

_**You think you've got it all hidden away in the deepest parts of your closet, where no one – not you, not your mother, not your best friend, not your favourite coat – can find them.** _

_**You think you've got a lid on it – all the feelings and the dreams that got turned to dust – all the things that you want to never touch or see or hear or think about ever again.** _

_**I move so slow because my shadows won't let me go. I want to find a way to redeem myself to you, Dean, but I can't, not with everything I've said hanging around like a bad dream, and it's literally killing me, because you're my best friend and I've never wanted to hurt you. I feel like I could kill myself with all the hurt I've caused.** _

_**I've thought of angels choking on their halos, Dean, ripping out the scorched feathers of their own tiny wings, and I can't help but wonder if they think what I do.** _

_**Do they want to know why it's always some strong sadistic power who forces them to tear out the parts of their soul that make them who they are? The same one who watches them and smiles –sick and twisted – as they string themselves up?** _

_**Because in the end they chose freedom over peace?** _

_**I just wonder if they knew when they chose it that it's just a stupidly short length of rope that you get given to hang yourself with.** _

 

It was signed with a bluebird and a long, uneven script that formed the letters C and N.

Dean ran.

He burst through the double doors at the end of the corridor, his head turning every which way as he looked around frantically, trying to find the dark red hood and endlessly blue eyes.

He looked left, right, in the car park, down the hill, and when he finally looked up, he saw the hood as it flapped in the growing wind, standing atop the school's roof.

Dean screamed at him.

"Cas! Cas, for fucks' sake, walk your ass down those stairs and down here!"

When he reached the bottom of the building, Dean looked up, craning his neck to see Castiel's distraught face as he shook his head.

"I can't, Dean. I can't. There's nothing left for me."

Panicked and worried sick, Dean yelled up to him, "Stay there! Don't you _dare_ jump, Cas! I'm coming up!"

For the second time that day, Dean found himself running. He ran back inside and up the stairs that led to the roof, ignoring his still gaping locker and bag strewn on the ground.

When he threw open the door, he cried out in relief, running over to grab Castiel's hand as he pulled _him_ into a tight hug, and let both their tears mingle on his jacket.

"Do you know what love is Cas? It's where you tell someone everything, no matter what it is, where you trust them and need them and want them and don't fucking… _leave them hanging!_ I need you Cas, like you need me… We keep each other steady, and why do you think that is, huh? Is our friendship not worth living for?"

Castiel's sobs returned, wracking his body heavily as he wept and hiccupped, trying to catch his breath and calm himself down.

No matter how tight Dean held him, Castiel just remained quiet, his sobs slowly dissipating as Dean stroked his messy black hair and pressed a kiss to his forehead as he pulled back to look Castiel in the eye.

"Am I worth living for Cas? Is it enough for me to need you?"

Castiel could only nod, a sad smile being pulled onto his lips as he realised that he did have something else he loved that was still there for him.

Dean took his hand and picked up his bag and lead him back down the stairs to where his own bag and locker were left gaping open.

He held Castiel's hand and didn't let it go, except to sit him gently down in the passenger seat of the Impala so he could take Castiel where he would be safe, and where Dean couldn't let him out of his sight. Home.

 

o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o

 

Dean ignores the thunder rumbling in the distance and turns his AC/DC up, listening to the song that plays currently, tapping the Impala's steering wheel and ignoring everything else in the world, save for the lyrics he knows by heart.

When the realisation that this song is far to true comes to him, he ejects the tape, rejects any thoughts that come into his head about what the lyrics remind him of, and fights back the similarity to all the other things that left a mark in his soul.

He lets go of the parts that are stained and feels them float away, leaving nothing but a darkness that seeps into the wind that carries away the last feather he remembers, burnt to a charcoal black.

 

o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o

 

"C'mon Cas! It'll be fun! We're graduating Uni tomorrow! Why can't we go out and celebrate a little, have a little fun?"

Castiel looked groggily up from his first cup of coffee, glaring at the man he – God knew why – had fallen in love with.

"Because I'm not awake yet, you insufferable ass. It's too fucking early in the morning for this," Castiel mumbled as he rubbed his temples.

Dean pouted at him like he had eaten the last cookie and Dean had been saving it.

"It's two in the afternoon, Cas. It's not my fault you're not a day person. In fact, I'm not even sure you're a person. You're too heavenly to be a mere human," Dean states, a smile threatening to appear on his face.

Castiel looks at him and sighs.

"Yeah I know I'm the shit, but _you_ know flattery gets you nowhere, Winchester."

Dean rolled his eyes and pulled Castiel out of where he sat in one of their kitchen chairs.

"C'moooooon Cas, I swear if you shower and we leave in the next hour we can have as much sex as you want when we get back." Dean was getting desperate to spend a last night with some of his friends before they left for other sides of the country.

Castiel looked at him as if contemplating that thought.

"Okay fine, but I get to pick what we do as soon as we get back in that door."

Dean thrust his fist into the air.

"Fuck yeah!" He leant down to kiss Castiel abruptly and startled him out of his sleepy state. "I love you so much, Cas. Now go have that fucking shower."

Two hours later, they were pulling up at the car park across from the Roadhouse, Castiel laughing as Dean held his door open for him.

"You're such a dork, Dean," he muttered, and smiled as Dean took his hand in his own.

Dean smiled right back. "Yeah, but you love me for it. My dorkiness makes you horny."

"Maybe it does. But your dorkiness doesn't get me food."

Castiel pushed Dean forward as they walked in the bar's door. "You know what to get me, hotshot."

"Yeah, yeah, burger and fries. You're so original, Cas."

While Dean was off ordering their food, Castiel found their friends and walked over to them, smiling as Charlie and Jo both reached over to hug him at the same time.

"I'll be right back guys, I'm just going to see if they have anything better for music," Castiel said, glad that they were all happy.

He found their collection of old music behind the bar, going through and finding some of his favourites to put on while talking to Ellen and Jo about his plans after Uni and business at the bar.

When he got back to the group's table, Dean looked at him with an all-knowing face and sighed.

Victor saw his face, knowing what his problem was, and laughed loudly, slamming his hand down on the table.

"What's wrong Dean? Can't handle a little blues?"

Dean glared at Victor and shuffled over to make room for Castiel.

"Nah, Dean totally digs Elvis, doesn't he?" Castiel said patronisingly, pinching Dean's cheek and laughing along with everyone else.

"Now let me guess, did you order pie as well?"

Dean smirked. "You know me so well Cas. How on Earth did you guess?" he asked sarcastically. "And no I didn't get one for you."

"Well I hope you realise this means I'll be eating some of yours, then," Castiel replied, equally as snarky. Dean pouted again when Castiel kissed him.

By the time they left the Roadhouse it was and the sky was pitch black in contrast with the harsh light of the street lamps. Dean was still humming the Led Zeppelin song that had played before, singing the chorus over and over again until Castiel slapped him on the arm.

"Hey! What was that for, Cas?"

Castiel gave him a side look, smirking as Dean rubbed the spot that Castiel had hit.

"You know what for. For being a dork."

"Well at least I know I'm making you horny," Dean shot back and walked to the edge of the road, and waited for Castiel before crossing.

Castiel laughed and Dean smiled, and Dean watched Castiel lovingly as he stepped up to and over the curb.

_All of my love, all of my love, all of my love to you._

_All of my love, all of my love, all of my love to you._

 

o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o

 

Dean finally works up the courage to get out of the car that feels too much like home and step outside into the harshness of reality. He is no longer in the dream that was freedom. Here, back where his life started and ended… this is what forced him to flee. This endless cycle that kept going…

This is the world he attempted to escape, for it was too much to ask of him to accept everything and all that had happened.

He breathes in deeply, feeling the air situate itself in his lungs before expelling it roughly in a loud, shaky sigh.

A glance up from the ground to the rows of stones in front of him shows that nothing has changed in the years since he's been here, aside from an advance of the creeping ivy. The trench-coated angel still lies weeping into its arms over one of the thick stones at the back of the cemetery.

The pain of it all hits him like a five-tonne truck.

Again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And he falls to his knees in front of it and skids in the mud, a phantom pain from the scars on his knees racing up his leg as his arms wrap themselves around him, the hem of the marble coat wrapping protectively around the headstone he tries not to look at, the name that he has tried, unsuccessfully, to forget.

The memories of the best (and what feel like the only real) years of his life come tumbling back in, rushing, falling, plummeting, and the impact of the time he hates and loves and fears wracks him with heavy sobs.

A name so beautiful and simple yet so difficult to speak tumbles from his lips with a broken voice carrying the heavy weight of a broken heart, and he can hear just how wrecked and shattered his soul must be.

 

o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o

 

"Cas!"

There's always a split second before realisation and impact.

And here, in that second, Dean forgot everything he wanted to say. He just ran.

_This couldn't be the way it ended._

No. Not with the mark Castiel had laid heavily upon his soul.

It wasn't even that far. He was only a few metres away.

And yet, even though he was that close, Dean could feel Castiel slipping further away the closer he got.

"Cas…? Cas!"

The torn trenchcoat moved. An arm tried to push the body up, but it was too bent, to bruised and weak and bleeding. Oh, was it bleeding.

Dean skidded down onto his knees and winced; it would definitely hurt later. Not as much as the hole in his heart that was threatening to be torn open for the thousandth time, but it would still hurt. He could see where his blood was slowly weeping out to meet Castiel's on the bitumen, but he couldn't care less; his hands went to cradle the beautiful, broken face, and his lips parted ever so marginally to form a broken smile as he saw sky-blue eyes open and move, however slowly, to look at him.

"…Dean… Dean… I don't – I…"

Dean shushed him with a barely-there touch of lips. "Hey, angel. Stay with me, ok?"

Castiel's head moved an inch before resting back in Dean's well-worn palms with the effort it took to try and nod. "…ok…"

With his hands trembling, Dean pushed the stray strands of hair on Castiel's sweaty forehead off to the side of his face. Castiel was already so pale, and though he tried to stop the bleeding wounds on Castiel's head and stomach, he couldn't stop the bleeding from his limbs where the bone had pierced skin, and he had no doubt those wounds hurt the most.

Castiel's face contorted in pain every few seconds, but, blinking slowly with what little energy he had left, Castiel opened his lips to speak.

"...Dean… I… I want…" Castiel started to say, cut short by a harsh, dry cough, wet with blood.

Wiping away the phlegm-blood with the sleeve of his shirt, Dean's eyes stared right into his, and Castiel could see a fiery determination in the burning forest of green that gave him the strength to finish what he was saying.

He took a deep, ragged breath before he spoke again.

"I… I want… to live…"

Dean smiled at his best friend. "I know you do, Cas… that's why you gotta stay focused on me, okay?"

He leant down to give Castiel another peck on his dry, bleeding lips, and he tried not to notice how cold they were, but when Castiel's strained smile relaxed suddenly along with the other muscles of his face, Dean noticed all too quickly. When his eyes no longer looked directly at Dean and glazed over, Dean started to panic.

"…Cas? Can you hear me? …Cas!"

He looked around apprehensively, noticing a couple of people fortunately out at night who'd noticed and started to run over to him.

"Someone call 911!"

"Does anyone know any first aid or medicinal things?"

Dean could only turn back and stare at Castiel.

"…Don't be dead, Cas… Please…"

Dean could barely speak; his voice was hoarse, as though having shouted for an hour, and honestly – that's what it had felt like – the fear and anger and sadness and shock all rushing through every fibre of his being had already taken him victim. He could barely speak, barely move… he could barely see for the tears that were forming in his eyes. He could barely comprehend what was happening.

Looking down at the mess in your lap that was your best friend and the love of your life only a few moments ago would probably do that to you. Feeling the thousandth loss of your life would probably do that too.

Dean looked up and to his left, and even in the dark he could see the portly middle aged man step out of his car, woollen sweater hanging drearily, blue button-up tight and greying curls looking slightly dishevelled. His face looked solemn, but not at all sad or guilty.

Taking one look at the blood and the torn fragments of a person lying on the tarmac, the man approached Dean and said in a sort of nasally voice, "Well, at least he isn't feeling so broken anymore… at least not mentally." Then he chuckled, and Dean could smell the alcohol on his breath. "At least his sacrifice won't be a waste… I can finally get rid of everyone else in my way and be king of paradise." He patted Dean's shoulder a couple of times before getting up and standing, wobbly, on his feet. There was no doubt that he was drunk.

When Dean punched him, Metatron had the nerve to look surprised as he stumbled backwards, as if Dean were the crazy one.

His upper lip curled slightly, revealing teeth and anger and a sudden menace that had the older man turning as quick as he could on his heels to stagger drunkenly away somewhere else.

"Don't you ever come back, you sick little shit!" Dean yelled, a growl on the edge of his tone. "I'll hunt your mental, fat ass down and rip your fucking throat out with my _teeth_!"

Looking around, Dean could see that someone had their phone to their ear, and they were giving him a sad smile. He would have tried to say at least a small 'thank you', but there was something blocking his throat, and he found that there were hot little droplets of water running down his face.

Dropping back down on his knees next to Castiel, Dean reached out with his hands to touch the tan coat and the mop of unruly dark hair on top of Castiel's head and pull his already cold body back into Dean's lap.

The tears had blurred his vision enough that he could no longer see Castiel's face. His limbs were so numb, he couldn't even feel the soft, worn trenchcoat in his fingers, and his hearing was nothing but silence – but what remained of Dean's senses could find the subtle, warm scent of _home_ , of cottony sheets and nights on the couch and the backseat of the Impala and _Cas._

For the tiniest moment, that scent was all that pervaded his mind, and for the tiniest moment, it overwhelmed the metallic stench of blood. It wasn't true.

His guardian angel wasn't lying still and cold in his poison arms.

 

o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o

 

_Bluebird, bluebird, singing in the tree_

_Spread your wings, come home to me_

_I will love you bluebird every hour of every day_

_I will love you bluebird until we all fade away_

 

The echo of the name he's been screaming at the top of his lungs has faded, and all he thinks about is the fact that the one he's been shouting for wouldn't be able to hear him under all that dirt anyway.


End file.
